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OUT OF THE SHADOW 



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OUT OF THE SHADOW 



Ji §x^mn in $hxtc Jijcts 



BY 

AUGUST VATTER and JOHN E. SPENCER 



SOMEWHAT ALTERED FROM THE ORIGINAL VERSION AS 

PLAYED AT THE VEREINS HALLE OF THE BOYLSTON 

SCHULVEREIN, DANFORTH STREET, BOSTON, 

MAY 27, 18S9, UNDER THE TITLE OF 

"A NOBLE SACRIFICE." 



JAN 23!890.V,V 



BOSTON ^-^''NGTO' 



^^^iJi^A/^^:uJLr'J^^^ 



1890 
39 



SYNOPSIS. 



ACT 1. 

Morning. — Isabel's birthday. A husband's love and a husband's secret. 
•' Can sucli joy endure ? " The shadow of tlie past clouds the light of 
the present. Army and Navy. A lesson in love. " A flank movement 
and a * naval engagement.' " The army routed. Waldemar's confes- 
sion. " The man you would call father is an outcast.'''' The edge of the 
shadow. " I will stand by her side and defy the world." Questioning 
the fates. The foreign workman. The courage of innocence. " Here 
was my name; he will remember it." The Shadow falls. 



ACT II. 

Afternoon. — Taking counsel. " Do your best, the happiness of us all 
depends upon you." Proposing under difficulties. Edith's dream. 
Father and daughter. " It is true; he is faithful." The shadow comes 
again. The Rat King. Isabel's scorn. "Of -uhom are you speaking? 
Your husbaytd !''' A little light in the darkness. "It is too late — too 
late." Isabel learns the truth. A convict's wife. " My idol has turned 
to clay." Isabel's flight. The Captain takes a tumble. Waldemar's 
return. The deserted home. '' Alone ! alotte ! " The blackness OF 
THE Shadow. 

ACT III. 

Evening. -" The cigarette of peace." A looker-on at love. "Great Jupi- 
ter! I can't stand it!" The terror of uncertainty. "He will surely 
come ; but when ? " The meeting of old enemies. Brought to Bav. 
Accusation and recrimination. "Cease your mockery, and tell me what 
you want." The price of silence. " Will money bring ba^k the dead ? " 
A living tomb. The tnlisman of love. " Your child lives — but not for 
you." A father's grief. "Do not ruin lier happiness, as you have 
mine." The S.vckifice. *' My little one is dead — to we!" The 
shadow lifts. " He is gone, never to return." Husband and wife. A 
confession. " W' hy have you not trusted me?" A bond of love. 
Out of the Shadow. 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 



ACT I. 

MORNING. 

Scene. — Waldemar's ^;w^Wj. An elegant villa, L., 
sfeps leading up. Balustrade and steps at C. Exits R. 
and L. Beyond the balustrade a drop showing factory 
buildings in perspective. R. an arbor containing seats. 
Foreground potted plants and rustic baskets filled with 
floiuers. Before the arbor a sjnall table covered with 
papers, writing materials, etc. Myron is seated in a 
large armchair, l. Enter Waldemar and Isabel, as 
curtain rises, from house. At rise of curtain, lively 
music, eight bars ; four at one bell, four as curtain rises. 

Waldemar. Your birthday party, my dear, opens under 
the most favorable circumstances. All those who love you 
best once more gather here to celebrate the day. I regret 
having to leave you even for an instant, but I am obliged to 
go to the factory for a while. Nothing but duty would call 
me away from your side to-day. The brightest and best of 
the whole year, — the day on which the cause of all my hap- 
piness was born. {Kisses her and exit r. 2 e.) 

Isabel {looks after him, then comes down). He is still 
my lover, though we are married more than ten years. Oh, 
can such joy, such devotion endure through life ! 

Myron {sits on armchair). Why not .'* Your happiness 
is well founded. 

Isa. {kneels beside him). Happiness ! That is too mild a 
term. Our language is too poor to give expression to my 
joy. 

Myr. Then do not try to express it. Love your husband 
as he deserves, and enjoy your happiness while it lasts ! 
(^Slow music. Strings with mute.) 



6 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

IsA. While it lasts ! That is it. Father, have you no- 
ticed lately how strange he is, as if some hidden sorrow was 
preying upon his mind ? 

Myr. No, my dear. What fancies you have ! Depend 
upon it, Frederick has no sorrow to conceal from us. 
He is too open-hearted to deceive any one. No ! Cast 
such thoughts away at once. 

ISA. But, father, sometimes in the midst of the brightest 
scenes, when there is no cause for anxiety, I have suddenly 
turned to speak to him, and seen his eyes fastened upon me 
with, oh, such a look of anguish, Fve stood transfixed with 
amazement, and then — 

Myr. {deeply interested). Well, — what then ? 

ISA. Then he would recover himself, pass his hand over 
his forehead and smile as if nothing troubled him. 

Myr. Perhaps it was some indisposition. He works 
hard. Think how he has built up our factory, enlarged our 
trade, increased our fortune. He has much to think of, 
much to try him. But a hidden sorrow, concealed thoughts 
and purposes, — never ! He is incapable of it. 

ISA. Perhaps in the past, — in the years before we knew 
him, something — 

Myr. But we know his past. His life is spread before 
us like the waters of a crystal lake, without a ripple to mar 
its purity. Think how manfully he struggled to redeem my 
broken credit. He would not listen to one word in favor of 
compromise. " Pay the penalty of your errors," he said. 
*' Stand acquitted before the bar of justice even though it 
takes all you have." Such a man can have nothing to con- 
ceal from either of us. 

IsA. But in his native land — 

Myr. He has told us of his life there, of his success in 
early manhood, that his father and mother died, that he lost 
his situation, came to America, learned our language and at 
last by mere chance found his way to this place, while look- 
ing for work. {Rises and lifts 7ip Isabel.) Your thoughts, 
my dear, are unworthy of you, and unjust to him. Banish 
them. 

IsA. {escorting him to the hotise). He will never lack a 
champion while you live, father. 

Myr. I have unbounded faith in him. 

ISA. And I, boundless faith and love. I promise you to 
indulge in no more fancies. 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. / 

(^Exetint into house j stop music.') 

Capt. a. {oiitside). You sailors tell big stories. {Enter 
with Lieut. Manly, l. u. e) Pretty women in China! 
Tiiere are no women in the world so — so — I might say — 
lovely as our American women. Beautiful women in China ! 
Nonsense ! Tell that to the marines ! 

Manly. As I am a marine officer you fulfil the command. 
But, Kendrick, if you had travelled beyond the bounds of 
your own land, you would know that beauty is not limited to 
any country. Go abroad some time and you will see for 
yourself that there are beautiful women even in China. 

Capt. A. Go abroad ? Tiien 1 must remain in ignorance, 
or leave the army, A convict has a better chance than I, 
he can sometimes get a — what is it ? 

Man. a pardon ? 

Capt. A. Oh, no ! Ticket — 

Man. Ticket of leave ? 

Capt. A. That's it. Ticket of leave. But I must stay — 
stay where the government puts me. Now if my wishes had 
been, what is it — consulted — I would have liked to have 
entered the navy, but my father was opposed to it and sent 
me to West Point. I went through, that is, graduated and 
now am one of a — a — noble or valiant band of twenty thou- 
sand under orders to — to defend three thousand times two 
thousand, thirty times twenty and eight ciphers. 

Man. What are you figuring ? 

Capt. A. Square miles. Three times tw^o and eight 
ciphers, three ciphers, — six hundred million square miles, 
and the army, twenty thousand men, the greater part officers. 
Take off four ciphers, leaves four, and two in six three times, 
three and four ciphers, thirty thousand square miles for me 
to protect. Is that correct } 

Man. It must be. Figures cannot lie. 

Capt. A. It is so. But we don't try to defend the whole. 
Most of my time in the service has been spent {takes off 
cap and walks away from Arthur, showins^ bald place on 
the back of his heaa) in chasing Indians and trying to save 
my scalp. 

Man. {smiling). The danger has lessened of late vears, 
Kendrick. 

Capt. A. (looks at him, then places his hand on top of his 
head). Oh! Well, the Indians are not always — what is 
it — particular. 



^ OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

Man. We must go on with our preparations for this even- 
ing. Also arrange about giving Isabel her presents, and we 
must make a speech on the occasion. (^Sits r.) 

Capt. a. Speech ! Who ? 

Man. No one more suitable than you. As her brother — 

Capt. A. {sinks comically into a chair). Me ! I couldn't 
say a word. It's hard enough to talk to one at a time ; but 
to a number of people — excuse me / No, you do tlie talking, 
and ril do the work. Fix everything for the lanterns, fire- 
works, and so forth. Each one can give his own present, 
that will save talk. 

Man. Yes. We can manage it. Frederick will not want 
to be disturbed. To-day has a double meaning to him. His 
wife's birthday is also their wedding day. Everything must 
be managed to make it a success. Kendrick, is it not re- 
markable how devoted they are to one another ? They are 
married lovers. 

Capt. A. That's it, — married lovers, — good — I wish I was. 

Man. You.? I always thought you feared the chains of 
matrimony. 

Capt. A. That's it. A man who can't talk — well is — mis- 
— is — well, people don't know him. I proposed to a nice 
young lady fifteen years ago, — I lost her. 

Man. Lost her'? By the hand of Providence .? 

Capt. A. Oh ! The deuce ! Hand of Providence ! 
Hand of Ned Sherman ! He married her, took her to North- 
field. They are living there yet, have four children. 

Man. Well, that is not so bad. You are in your prime. 
Time enough yet. 

Capt. A. Thank you. {Confidentially^ Now suppose 
I was in love, how would — what would be a good way to 
propose ? 

Man. That depends upon the age of the lady, and the 
different circumstances, the time, place, season, her manner 
of bringing up, education — 

Capt. A. Gracious! There's a lot to think of. 

Man. It is a delicate and trying situation. 

Capt. A. I know it. 

Man. You might say to her, calling her by her name — 
Prudence or Patience, or whatever it might be, — ''I love 
you." 

Capt. A. No ! I couldn't do that. I must skirmish 
around a little. Sort of flank movement. 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 9 

Man. Then you mi,2:ht take walks, rides, and visit lier at 
her home, and sometirne when she seemed to enjoy your 
society ijreatly and was in her happiest mood, ask her if 
she would enjoy this companionship forever. — if she would 
like to have you ever near, to love, cherish, and protect her. 

Capt. a. That's good. Til try it. 

Man. You ouiiht to tell me her name. 

Capt. A. Well, — at some other time. 

Man. (n'si\^). Then let us go on with our preparations 
for this evening.' 

Capt. A. (rises). That wouldn't be underhanded, this 
closing in on the enemy ? Would it .'' 

Man. All is fair in love and war. 

Capt. A. {/oo^s ofR.). That^s it ! Here comes Freder- 
ick. 

Man. Now we can ask him if he has any further orders 
for this evening. 

(Enter Waldemar and ]ames, r. u. e.) 

Waldemar (a roll of paper in his hand. Bows to Capt. 
and Lieut.). Wait a moment, 1 have a few business affairs 
to arrange. (They bow and go up stage:) Tell Whitcomb 
to give the help a half holiday. 

James (l. c). With full pay, sir ? 

Wal. (sits at small table, R.). Assuredly. It would be 
no holiday to them if they lost their wages. I will look over 
these accounts, you can return for them later. Let all 
further business affairs remain until to-morrow. To-day I 
would like to forget the factory and its cares. Is there any- 
thing else of importance ? 

James. Yes, sir. The foreman in the spinning-room says, 
the spinners are using up the last of the cotton, and can't 
have the new supply for three weeks. Mr. Whitcomb says 
they must run on short time or shut down at the end of the 
week. 

Wal. (thotightftilly). We must try to avoid this error in 
future and keep an abundance of stock on hand. I will tell 
the manager not to shut down but give employment to the 
married men, and others who may have children or parents 
to support. The loss should fall on those who can bear it 
without suffering. 

James. Linfield asked me to tell you that there is a new 
workman in the weaving room who is causing them trouble ; 
he would like to have you see about him to-morrow. 



10 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

Wal. I will do so. I have told Lin field not to discharge 
one of the help without my knowledge. I do not want any 
harshness or injustice. 

James. That is why he has waited, knowing that you 
wish to judge yourself in such matters. But this fellow is of 
a bad sort, and is having an evil influence over some of the 
rougher kind in the factory. He is a foreigner and harangues 
to them on iheir rights. Your wife's uncle recommended him. 

Wal. a communist most likely. 

James. I think so, he looks as though he had a bad 
record. 

Wal. If he is inclined to do right now, his past should 
not stand in his way, but I will see to it in the morning. 
Tell the manager not to disturb me to-day if he can help it. 

James. Very well, sir. {Exit r. u. e.) 

Capt. a. {comes down'). Have you any commands for 
me .'* 

Wal. Have everything properly managed for this even- 
ing. Let there be music and a dance for our people on the 
lawn. I would like to see them happy. 

Capt. A. I will see to everything. {Exit R. u. e.) 

Man. {coming dotun). Frederick, I need your advice and 
help. I wished to tell you, Frederick, — 

Wal. Well ! Go on. Fm listening. 

Man. You are busy perhaps. I will wait until you are 
at leisure. 

Wal. {leans back). Confide your trouble to me. Am I 
not ever your friend .'' 

Man. {sits at l. of table). Yes, and that gives me cour- 
age to speak. I am in love. 

Wal. I suspected as much. 

Man. Is it so evident ? 

Wal. To me the signs are plain enough. Mythology 
teaches that Cupid is blind, but no one claims that love is 
invisible. Your abstracted manner, gloomy face, and fre- 
quent sighs can have but one meaning. But who is the 
favored one ? Can you not confide in me .'' 

Man. Yes, but first let me tell you why I love. Fate 
directed you to this place, and made you an instrument of 
<:ood to others. You found here a man already past his 
prime, struggling against heavy odds to redeem his credit 
and save his family from social degradation. By your untir- 
ing energy, clear insight, and noble devotion — (Wal. raises 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. U 

his hand.) Hear me to the end. You saved him and his 
fomilv. You were rewarded by the love of those you labored 
for, Myron Arnold's gratitude, his lasting ^nendship, he 
respea of his family and friends, and, best of all, Isabel 
crowned your happiness with her own noble heart. (Wal 
turns away.) Out of all this grew up the paradise of >our 
home Your home has been the nursery of my heart. 1 
have counted the hours when homeward bound that brought 
me nearer to you and that happy fires.de, where I have 
learned what it is to love and be loved. _ 

Wal. And welcome you have ever been, Arthur, our 
home circle is broken when you are absent 

Man {takes Waldemar's hand in both of his). You 
^ive me courage. When you came here among us, you 
brought a little child. Time has passed and to-day she is a 
lovely woman ; the influence of your home has developed a 
<rrace of mind more enduring than physical beauty. (Wal 
%rns away.) I thank you for her presence among us, and 

^'\Tl7iabruptly). Spare me ! Spare yourself, Arthur ! I 

know what you would ask; but believe me, it is not best. 

Do not force me to give the reason, but accept my decision, 

in the name of our friendship. 

Man You cannot realize the pain you cause me. ^ 

Wal. {harsh tone). Devote yourself to your profession 

^tlAN^'Voriet? Can we control memory? Leave her ? 
Whv ? Fredenck, this is no boyish fancy. , I loved her as a 
child, when scarcely more than a boy myself, I love her now 
with all the strength of manhood. 

Wal. irises). Tm very sorry for you. 

MAN. Igrasps his arm). I implore you to tell me your 
reason. In the name of justice, in the name of our friend- 
ship, speak, Frederick! I'm no coward! 

^AL. {looks at him sadly). You will have 't so ^^t 
remember, 1 would have spared you. {Sits,) When 1 
brought Edith here I told Isabel and her tather, that she 
was an orphan, and I told the truth. Her n^o^'^^/^^^'-^f^f '^^• 
I had seen the earth close over her coffin, and when the last 
ites hid been performed, I took the child in my arms and 
returned to my native city. 1 cared or he as ^ ^ ^^V^^ 
my own, cared for her as a man should who had pledged his 
honor to — her father. 



12 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

Man. Her father? 

Wal. Yes ! I heard of the destitute condition of his 
family and promised him I would aid his wife and child. I 
arrived too late to save the mother, but I have kept my 
promise and done all I could for his daughter. 

Man. You have, indeed, nobly kept your pledge. But 
her father ? Why could he not care for them ? 

V^ Ki.. (^reluctantly ; tu7'7ting away'). He was — in prison. 

Man. (orasping the chair). Where? 

Wal. {fir;H, hard tone). In prison. 

Man. What for ? 

Wai.. {aside). Oh, this is torture ! {Aloud.) For high- 
way robbery. Yes, the man you would call father was an 
outcast, the companion of thieves and murderers, a man who 
made a business of crime, a man — 

Man. Horrible ! {Sinkino into a chair.) 

Wal. The man lives. His name is Ramenoff, Johann 
Ramenoff. He was under sentence for twenty years — he 
has served sixteen — in four years he will be free. What 
then ? 

Man. {looking up). Frightful! 

Wal. Can you, dare you, take such a risk ? 

Man. {rises slowly., leans on chair). I can, and I will. 

Wal. Remember, Arthur, I have done my duty as a 
friend. 

Man. Her father's crimes shall not be the means of in- 
jury to her. From her own lips I will learn my fate, and if 
she loves me, I will stand by her side, and defy the world. 
{Exit Manly into house.) 

Wal. {after a pause). And learn what it is to have one's 
life haunted by a ghastly phantom, which naught but death 
can take away. {Sinks into chair at k.) 

{Efiter Captain Arnold, r. u. e., with a box containing 
pistols ; places them at small table, L.) 

Capt. a. We will have target shooting this afternoon, 
A prize for the best shot. {Looks at Wal.) You are ill ! 
What's the matter ? Shall I bring you a glass of wine ? 

Wal. {wearily). No. It will soon pass. I have a pain 
here. {Places his hand on his temple.) 

Capt. A. {puts his hand on Waldemar's forehead). 
Why ! your head throbs as though it would burst. 

Wal. {o^ently reinoving his haftd). It is nothing. A 
slight headache. {Points at box.) Pistols ? 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 13 

Capt. a. Yes. 
Wal. Are they loaded ? 

Capt. A. Yes. But I will lock the box. (Fee/s m his 
pocket.) I forgot the key. 

Wal. You had better take them away ; some one mieht 
be injured. 

Capt. A. I will find the key and return soon. {Turns 
to go; comes back.) Frederick, I want to confide in you. 
Tm in love. 
Wal. Another one ! This seems to be lover's day. 
Capt. A. Another one ? Who is the first one ? 
Wal. 1 cannot betray family secrets. 
Capt. A. To be sure. Well, — now, — suppose you 
were in my place, in love and so forth, what would 
you do .^ 

Wal. I should ask the lady if she loved me in return. 
Capt. A. Yes, — that's it. But — how would you cq 
about it.? ^ ^ 

Wal. Who is it .? 

Capt. A. Well, — I will tell you some other time. I 
wanted to know some way to get at the subject. 
Wal. Is it our neighbor .? Miss Eunice .? 
Capt. A. Eunice, Eunice Brown 1 Absurd ! — forty at 
least, and thin as a rifle barrel. 
Wal. An estimable lady. 

Capt. A. No doubt. But I'm not a Methuselah. Now, 
what would you say to a young lady eighteen or twenty .? 

Wal. I should say there'was too great a difference in 
your ages, but if you love each other, you will learn the lan- 
guage of affection without any advice from me. 
Capt. A. Language of affection ! that's good ! 
Wal. {slightly amused). There is a language unspoken 
and yet most expressive, the language of the eye, — 
Capt. A. {interrupting). Look in her eye.? 
Wal. {laughs slightly). Yes ! 
Capt. A. That's good. I'll try it. 

{Enter l. u. e., Isabel, Mamie, and Edith ; Mamie has 
a bouquet.) 

Wal. Be sure to bring the key to this box. 
Capt. A. I will. Don't mention a word of this to my 
sister. 

Wal. I'll be silent. {^Exit Q^vi. P^. into house.) Well, 
my little darling, where did you find the posies 1 



14 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

Mamie {runs to him). In our garden. They are for you, 
pnpa. 

Wal. {sits at small table; takes Mamie on his knee). 
Thank you, they are beautiful. {Kisses her and holds 
bonqnet.) 

Mamie. Papa, you did not always live here ? 

ISA, {comes down). Hush, child! 

Wal. Let her talk, Isabel. She means no harm. Why 
do you say that, dear ? 

Mamie. Oh, because I thought I would like, when I am 
a bitj girl, to go where you lived when you were a little boy. 

Wal. {smooths back her hair). So you may — perhaps 
— sometime. 

Mamie. Oh, I'm so glad. And I will see your folks, and 
where you lived. Have I any little cousins there ? 

Wal. {puts her down a7id lays bouquet on table). We 
will talk about it some oiher time, my dear. 

Isa. {takes Mamie by the hand). You annoy papa. 
Sometime I will tell you all about it. 

{Enter Capt. K. from house^ with a key in his hattd.) 

Capt. a. {locking pistol box). There. No danger now. 
By the way, I just saw Derblay driving by. 

Isabel. Yes .^ 

Capt. A. Good fellow ; but afraid of his wife. She holds 
the purse. That's always a bad — what is it .'* — condition — 
state — predicament. That's it. Predicament for a man to 
be in. 

Isabel. He is well punished. 

Edith. And what is his crime ? 

Capt. A. He claimed to be a Count, but he has no right 
to the title until his uncle dies. lie kept this fact out of 
sight, though, until after the wedding. 

Edith. I think he loves her. 

Isa. Love is no excuse for crime. 

Capt. A. Your high notions about honor were Jilways too 
much for me. If I went wrong. Heaven defend me from 
your justice. 

Wal. I agree with vou. Kendrick, the law.> of the Medes 
and Persians, the old law of hard, unflinching reparation, is 
out ot place in a Chiistian country. Why is it, Isabel, that 
you, who are so kind to the unhappy, can be so hard toward 
an evil-doer.'' 

Isa. Pity is wrongly directed when it offers excuses for 



OUT OF THE SHADOW, 



15 



evil. Toward the sorrowins: and unhappy our hearts should 
turn in the spirit of love ; toward the guilty and sinful, in 
stern unbending justice. 

Wal. Who has greater cause for sorrow than the crimi- 
nal.? Who more unhappy than he? Even the law has 
some regard for him. After he has served his term of im- 
prisonment, it says, " Go ! try to redeem your past ; you have 
paid the penalty — you are free." 

Capt. a. That's it, I'm on that side. 

ISA. I cannot help my aversion to such people. The 
respectable — 

Wal. {suppressed voice). The respectable ! I despise 
the word. It is often the excuse for cruelty. These Phari- 
sees and hypocrites, — they pray for the sinner one day in 
the week, and on six days turn from him or seek to crush 
him. {Knocks the bouquet to the floor.) 

Isa. {taking hold of his arm). Do not excite yourself. 
It is a matter of opinion. 

^ VVal. {calmly). Forgive me. Let us avoid this subiect 
in the future. •* 

ISA. {soothingly). I will never refer to it again. Surely 
U does not concern us who are all the world to each other'. 
(Capt. A. and Edith go up stage.) 

Mamie {picks tcp flowers and gives them to her father) 
Papa, you have thrown away the flowers I gave you. 

Wal. {takes them). I'm sorry, my darling: I did not 
mean to. ® 

IsA. {embracing him). You'll not be long away. 

Wal. Not long ! I must go to the factory once more. 

Isa. Come. Edith. 

{Exit IsABi-L, Edith, and Mamie in house.) 

Capt. A. Isabel has high notions. 

Wal. Her father is to blame for this. What we learn 
in childhood clings to us through our whole life. I'm sorry 
to leave you, but I must return these accounts. 

Capt. A. {going 7ip stage with him). I would like a few 
more points on that subject. We were interrupted and so 
forth. You think the eye expresses the feeling of the heart ? 

Wal. Yes ! 

Capt. A. Hm ! That's a good point; I will hold on to 
that. 

{Exit Waldemar and Capt. A., l. u. e Enter 
Manly, l.) 



1 6 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

Man. {goes to small table, L.). I tried to speak to her, 
but my courage tailed. How easy it would have been if — 
{Take's a rose from bojiguet.) I will consult this flower. 
{Plucks petals fro7n rose.) 

" Does her heart to me incline? 
Shall I ever call her mine ? 
Emblem of her mind so pure! 
Will that love through time endure ? " 

Childish nonsense ! {Goes toward house.) 
{E titer Edith from Jiouse.) 

Edith. Why do you stay here, when it is so pleasant in 
the house ? (Manly continues to pluck the petals.) What 
are you doing .-^ 

Man. {with mock dignity). Her heart inclines. Call 
her mine. Love endures — 

Edith. Her love endures ? Will you trust to a flower ? 

Man. This is my oracle. Do you believe in the lan- 
guage of flowers ? 

Edith. A little ; do you ? 

Man. When my hopes are encouraged. I will try one 
of the children's rhymes. — One, I love ; two, I love ; three, I 
love, I say ; four, I love with all my heart ; five, I cast away. 

Edith. Oh, that would be unkmd. {Looks closely at 
rose.) How silly it seems. 

Man. To be like children? 

Edith. Yes. when we are old enough to be sensible. 

Man. I would like to have the hope and faith of my boy- 
hood remain with me through life. We were very happy in 
those days, Edith. 

Edith {looking down). Yes, I— Don't you want to 
know the answer of the flower? 

Man. {smiling). I'm afraid there are not enough petals. 
Six, she loves ; seven, he loves ; eight,- they both love ; nine, 
they court; ten, they tarry; eleven, engaged; eleven — 
There are no more petals. {Looks over 7'ose.) 

Edith {examines bouquet). Here is a larger one. 

Man. That will not do. I must abide by the decision of 
this one. I might control the oracle by consulting the 
flowers until I found the right one. {Looks closely.) Here 
is a tiny petal in the heart of the rose. Twelve, they marry. 
{Looks tenderly at Edith.) 

Edith {looking at the 7'ose and avoiding his glance). Oh, 
Arthur, this one is blighted. That's a bad sign. 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. t/ 

Man. It counts one, and the oracle has answered as I 
wish. 

Edith. Now if we had a daisy blow or a thistle, we could 
{b/ozus on the rose) see if mother wants me. 

Man. You are not serious, but I am. 

Edith. But if the rose had not answered you as you 
would like ; if it said, she does not love, or loves a little ? 

Man. In love there can be no such word as little ; it is 
all or nothing. 

Edith {looking down). It must be enjoyable in clear 
weather to glide'over the sea in a noble ship. I have not 
been on the ocean since I was a little girl three years old. 
Even that experience has faded from my memory. 

Man. Do you remember your parents .? 

Edith. I can just faintly recall my mother and how I 
cried when she was buried. 

Man. Would you like to live at sea, away from land for 
months, parted from friends ? 

Edith. I would enjoy it, if I was with some one who 
cared for me. But that would be impossible. 

Man. Suppose you were with a brother or husband ? 

Edith. Oh ! That is against the rules unless my hus — 
brother was a captain. 

Man. {smiling). So you have learned one of the rules ? 

Edith {embarrassed). I have been told that it was so. 
{Hands him a rose.) Would you like to learn more from 
the flowers ? 

Man. Not from them, but from you. 

Edith. Shall I become your oracle ? 

Man. No! Be my judge. I will not trust my fate to a 
flower that might not answer me as I wish. 

Edith {looking at bouquet). I would like to bring some 
roses and forget-me-nots to mother. 

Man. Hear my appeal and be my judge. 

Edith {points off., l.). Will you gather some of those 
white roses for me ? 

Man. I will, but first — 

Edith. Please ! 

Man. I will obey your commands. 

{Exit Manly, l. 2 e.) 

Edith {looking after him). The white roses, yes, and 
forget-me-nots, — some pansies, the purple ones, and lilies, 
yes. 



tS OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

{Efiter Ramenoff, r. i e.) 

Edith {turns and sees him). What do you wish, sir ? 

Ramenoff {hoarse voice). Pardon me, my pretty lady. 
I found your gate open. I came in. It was easy that one 
should enter tiiis place. 

Edith. Whom are you, sir ? What do you want ? 

Rame. I am a workman in the factory. What do I 
want ? I cannot tell it to you. 

Edith. Whom would you like to see ? 

Rame. Frederick Waldemar. 

Edith. He lives here. 

Rame. Then I will sit down. 

Edith. He is away. 

Rame. I shall wait for him. 

Edith. He may not return for some time. 

Rame. I see, you do not like me to be here. Very well. 
I shall go. {Sits at small table and 7urites.) I forgot my 
visiting cards. He shall know that I was here. Here was 
my name. He will remember that name. 

{Enter Lt. Manly, ivith botiquet, L. 2 e. ; looks at them^ 

Rame. You are not afraid of me .'' 

Edith. Wliy should I fear you } 

Rame. It was the courage of the innocent. 

Man. {comes do7un). Who are you ? 

Rame. That was my business. 

Man. You ruffian ! {Points k.) Go. 

Ed th {cli7i(^s to him). Arthur, do not quarrel with him. 

Man. Give some excuse for your behavior or I will tlirow 
you out. 

Rame. I come to see Frederick Waldemar ; he was not 
here, so I shall go away. 

Man. Tell me who you are. 

Rame. A workman — I told her so ; there you'll find my 
name. Now I shall go, but I come again. {Strikes match 
to light pipe.) 

Edith {stands between them). He has done no harm. 

Man. Don't light that pipe here. Wait till you are off 
the grounds. Do you hear } {Kaises his hand.) 

Ramr. {retreating slowly ; aside). Once I would have 
choked him, the young puppy. Bah ! Nonsense ! fool ! 
{Exi}, R. I e.) 

Man. {holds her tenderly). Did this f-ellow frighten you ! 

Edith. No. 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. I9 

Man, You are trembling! 

Edith. Oh, how wretched he looks ! You were too 
harsh with him, Arthur. Think what a hTe of misery he 
must have known. {^Leaves him and goes to table L.) Here 
is his name, Johann Ramenoff. 

Man. (^sf>rings forward). What did you say.-* 

Edith {points to paper). RamenofT. 

Man. {seizes the paper). Impossible ! 

Edith. What is the matter ? 

Man. {assumed indifference). Oh, I was surprised. I've 
heard of this name. I thought it might be — no ! {Aside.) 
Impossible ! 

{Enter Waldemar, uu.p:.) 

Edith {goes tip stage). Perhaps you have heard of him 
somewhere in foreign lands. Oh, how unhappy he looks! 

Wal. {looks at Edith, smilifig). You are disturbed. Is 
he disagreeable ? 

Edith. Oh, no ! I've no complaint to make. 

Wal. {smooths back her hair). I hope you may never 
have cause for one. May you be happy. {Exit Edith into 
house. Waldemar sees her to the door and goes over to 
Arthur, who is r., looking at paper.) Is that document 
interesting, Arthur .'' 

Man. Are you sure he is still in prison ? 

Wal. Who ? 

Man. Ramenoff. {Music till fall of cu7-tain.) 

Wal. Yes. 

Man. You are wrong. He is here. Look. {Gives paper.) 

(Wal. takes paper and reads; staggers to table, R., rings 
bell violently. Lt. Ma]>!LY rushes to his assistance. Enter 
James.) 

Wal. James, if any one calls tell tlrem I am not at home. 
Do you understand ? — not at home. 

James. Yes, sir. 
{Enter from house Isabel and Captain. Isabel comes 

to Waldemar's assistance. Captain up stage. Lt. 

Manly back of Waldemar's chair.) 

IsA. Oh, Frederick, you are ill ! 

Wal. {risitig). No, no ! It is nothing. I have told Jarnes 
to tell everyone who calls that I am not at home. I wish to 
be alone with you, Isabel, for to-day is your birthday. 
{Music slightly crescendo until fall of curtain.) 

CURTAIN. 



3CJ OUT OP THE SHADOW. 

ACT II. 
AFTERNOON. 

Scene. — A large^ richly furnished room. Door Q.. ; D. R. 

and L. C. door leads to garden. Lt. Manly and Walde- 

MAR discovered. Waldemar walks nervously up and 

down. 

Man. {sits r. c). It seems odd to me that this fellow 
can have such disturbing influence. You do not seem like 
yourself. 

Wal. I cannot bear excitement as I could when I was 
your age. Time increases our burdens, but unfortunately it 
does not improve our ability to face them. To see the re- 
sult of years of labor swept away in a moment, to have 
one's reputation, the happiness of those we love, destroyed 
by revenge, hate, or jealousy, these are but a few of the ills 
some are obliged to meet. 

Man. Surely this man has no such power here ? 

Wal. I spoke of this more as an example. 

Man. Do not trouble yourself on my account. My 
course is clear. Were he more degraded than he is, I would 
not let him stand between me and Edith. Can you not in- 
duce him to leave ? Refuse to tell him where his daughter 
is. Let us go to him at once ; offer him assistance, provided 
he agrees to our terms. Do you know where he can be 
found .'' 

Wal. I have sent James to the overseer to inquire where 
he lives. 

Max. Then as soon as he returns I will go and try to 
make it an object for him to be silent. > 

Wal. {sits down wearily^. You can do nothing with him. 

Man. I will appeal to every motive and exert myself to 
the utmost to influence him. 

Wal. It would be useless. 

Man. Is he then an inhuman monster? He must have 
some feeling. 

Wal. He was revengeful when much younger. Years 
in prison, with plenty of time to indulge his hatred, have nr»t 
improved him. I must see him alone. I can manage it 
much better. The presence of another might prove harmful. 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 21 

{Desperately.) There is no other way — I must see him and 
alone. 

Man. But what harm can he do? Edith is of age and 
can choose her companions. He can make known to her 
who he is, but he cannot claim her. She would pity him, to 
be sure ; but I cannot, I will not believe she would allow him 
to part us. What injury can he do t What is there to fear ? 

Wal. Everything. More than I can tell you. 

Man. I confess I do not comprehend. 

Wal. I know the man, and what he is capable of. He 
has a strange nature — good qualities, but they are distorted, 
and instead of making him better only serve to make him 
dangerous. There may be some way of influencing him. 
Heaven help me to find it. {E?iter James, c. d.) James, 
have you succeeded .'' 

James. Yes, sir. {Hatids paper to V\i av.j^rmxk.) 

Wal. (reads). This will do ; I can find him. There is 
nothing further, he has made no more trouole ? 

James. No, sir. 

Wal. Very well. {Exit James, d. l. To Manly.) 
Arthur, if anything should happen that I fail, if this man 
should injure, even disgrace me, if all should turn away — 
would you still stand by me, believe in me, trust me : Would 
you also ciiange .'* 

Man. {takes /lis hand). No! I do not understand why 
you fear his influence, or why you dread to meet this man, 
and I do not even ask you to tell me ; but be assured, my 
love for you is second only to my devotion to Edith, and will 
never change. 

Wal. {turns away ; takes hat and cane). I will not de- 
lay another moment. I will see him at his house and return 
as soon as possible. {Shakes hands with Manly.) 

Man. Do your best. Remember my happiness depends 
upon it. 

Wal. More than that — the happiness of us all. 
{Exit c. D.) 

Man. {lost in thouo^ht). The happiness of us all ? How 
can this fellow control the happiness of those infinitely above 
him } 

{Enter Captain Arnold, d. r.) 

Capt. a. This is the worst — hm ! — specimen of a birth- 
day festival I have ever seen. Can you tell me where my 
gloomy broiher-in law is ? 



22 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

Man. He has gone for a walk. 

Capt. a. I wanted to see him. We had a h'ttle conver- 
sation on a — subject of interest, great interest, and — (Lt. 
Manly pays no attention?) Are you asleep.'' Everybody 
seems to be dreaming, Have you noticed it .'' I say ! There 
is some kind of a — of a — what is it, epidemic here ; even 
our Edidi has a far-away sort of a look. 

Man. Edith t 

Capt. A. I say that Edith doesn't seem so — so — jolly. 
She's not enjoying the day as one ought. But slie is charm- 
ing. Did you notice how lovely she looked at dinner .^ 

Man. She appears the same to me always. 

Capt. A. You hardly spoke to her. You were seated by 
her side, you should have passed the dishes — I was oppo- 
site — you were in the clouds — I was wide awake. She 
might have starved if she depended on you. 

Man. Was I so neglectful ? 

Capt. A. You sat there like a — what is it? — I might 
say dummy ! Don't be offended. I asked her what she 
would have — a little more gravy? Some of the pudding? 
— " Yes, dear uncle." — Did you notice it ? No! Well, she 
did. Then she would say, " A little butter, please," " I 
would like some salt." When I passed her the articles she 
would say, '' Thank you, dear uncle." Did you notice that 
'•'■ dear H7icle " ? No ! Oh, it's all right, I like it. I suppose 
she feels as though we are related. But after all Em afraid 
we'll lose her. 

Man. How ? 

Capt. A. Why — she will probably be married. I tell 
you, my boy, that charming girl ought to be kept in the fam- 
ily. We must keep her with us. 

Man. You seem to be quite excited over it. 

Capt. A. Well, yes. Em used to seeing her in our 
home. 'Twould be lonesome without her. I was talking 
with Frederick on the subject of proposing. He thought I 
meant our neighbor Miss Eunice Brown. He quite upset 
me. Nice lady, but she wouldn't suit me. I wish I had 
more courage. 

Man. You, a defender of our country, lacking in courage ! 

Capt. A. Not in military affairs, but in affairs of the 
heart. Ed rather face a Gatling gun than a pretty woman's 
eyes. Arthur, will you do me a favor ? 

Man. If it is within my power, yes. 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 2$ 

Capt. a. Propose for me. 

Man. Propose ! I — you had better plead your own 
cause. Who is it ? 

Capt. A. Hm ! Well, no matter. Perhaps I can induce 
Frederick to find out how I stand with her. You could do 
better. 

Man. Perhaps she mis^ht refuse you. It might prove 
another case like Miles Standish and Priscilla — she might 
ask me why I did not speak for myself. 

Capt. A. I'm not afraid of that, she don't care a straw 
about you. 

Man. Then she knows me .'' 

Capt. A. Yes, of course. Will you oblige me, yes or no ? 
{Enter Edith slowly, l., crocheting.^ 

Capt. A. Here she is. Now forward ! 

Man. Why, man, what do you mean ? 

Capt. A. Propose ! You said you would. 

Man. For you? Never! 

Capt. A. You promised. • 

Man. You don't know what you ask. {Goes L., Captain 
follows him. Edith comes down r.) 

Capt. A. Then retreat. I think I can make a dash. 

Edith. Again we meet, dear uncle. 

Capt. A. {aside to Manly). Dear uncle ! Do you 
hear.?' {To Edith.) Arthur has some affairs to — he's 
obliged to go away. {Motions to Manly to go.) I will re- 
main. {Aside.) Why don't you go? {To Edith.) Isa- 
bel is with Mamie, Frederick is out of sight — circumstances 
favor me. {Ma'NLY goes np stage.) 

Edith. Favor you in what, dear uncle ? 

Capt. A. {looks l.). He's gone. {To Edith.) There 
are moments in a man's life when — {Looks round and sees 
Manly.) He is still here ! {Aside to Manly.) Why 
don't you go ? 

Edith {aside). What can be the matter ? 

Capt. A. Out of the heart are the issues of life — 

Man. Says the poet — 

Capt. A. {repeating). Yes — says the poet — 

Man. Ha, ha, ha! Worse and worse. 

Capt. A. This is an insult. Edith, will you answer a 
plain question ? 

Edith. I will try — dear uncle. 

Capt. A, I have looked at the subject from every point 



24 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

of view — that is, on every side — To be sure, I'm on the 
shady side of forty, but my heart is young — true love levels 
the difference — and so forth — 

Man. That covers the whole ground. 

Capt. a. {to Manly). See here ! This is treachery. 
(7"<? Edith.) This puts me out. {Aside.) I would like to 
know why he's so jolly. In spite of him, I will yet explain 
what I mean. {As he passes Mau'LY.) Traitor! {Throws 
kiss to Edith.) Angel ! 

{Exit L.) 

Edith. What does he mean 1 

Man. {comes forward). He is in love. 

Edith {pointing to herself). No .? 

Man. Yes. 

Edith. What an idea ! 

Man. He is serious in the matter, but fails to express 
himself. Perhaps I did wrong not to leave him here alone, 
he would have done better. 

Edith. You are jesting. 

Man. He fears you will leave us some time, and thinks 
the surest way to keep you is to be your lawful protector. 
I am of the same opinion, but prefer to be the favored 
one. 

Edith {archly). So you follow his example ? 

Man. {seriously). 1 have not learned my lesson from him. 
I had it by heart long before he thought of keeping you in 
the family. — What do you think of jealousy .'* 

Edith {laughs). You are not jealous of poor dear old 
uncle 1 

Man. No ! Though I might be excused for feeling a 
slight tinge of the green-eyed monster, since you speak so 
pityingly of him. 

Edith. I am sorry — sorry that he ever thought of being 
more than he has always been. My dear, kind, good Uncle 
Kendrick! 

Man. I shall think I have reason to be jealous. 

Edith. It is a luxury we ought to avoid. 

Man. Easily said ! But I plead guilty to weakness in that 
respect. Let us suppose a case, that of a sailor compelled to 
absent himself for a long time from tlie one he loved. He 
would think of her by day, dream of her by night. He 
would recall the happy hours they had spent together — and 
how natural it would be to fear that some one might have 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 2$ 

won her affection, and she perhaps had learned to forget the 
absent one. 

Ed-TH. If she really loved, she cotdd x\o\. forget. 

Man. It is the hope, the faith in her that gives him cour- 
age. Oh, Edith, you cannot realize how a man feels thousands 
of miles away ! How anxiously he looks for news from 
home. With what delight we hail the day when the anchor 
is weighed and the ship is homeward bound, how we count 
the da'v-s and hours ! At last we reacli our native land. How 
welcome the crv from the lookout, " Land ahoy." When 
we enter the harbor what sweet music to hear the boom of 
the cannon as the salute comes floating to us from the fort. 
As we draw nearer and nearer to the shore, how eagerly I 
raise the glass and look for the one t love. At last I see 
her at the right of the crowd. The ship comes nearer. 
People can now distinguish us. I saw a veil, some one was 
waving it. I heard a cry — 

Edith. Yes, it was I — the Navarre ! I could read the 
name. I shouted, " Father ! mother ! He is here ! He has 
come back ! " Oh, how glad I was ! It seemed so long — 
three vears ! I — {Collects herself^ 

Man. {gently takes her hand). Edith, —you were glad 
to see me, you had not forgotten me ? 

Edith {withdraws her hand). It is wrong. You set a 
trap for me. 

Man. Forgive me, I wanted to know if you loved me. 
Oh, I will not give you up ! no power on earth shall p.irt us ! 

Edith. 1 dare not listen. You must not spe.ik so. Let 
us be for a while dear companions, as we used to be. 
Leave me, Arthur, I beseech you to leave me. 

Man. {presses her hand in both of his own). Leave you } 
Yes, if you insist ; but not forever. Heaven speed the hour 
when I shall call you mine. (Edith kisses her hand and 
places it on his cheek, then turns quickly away. Manly 
raises her hand to his lips, then exit. Edith looks after 
him; comes down.) 

Edith. Angel mother, guard and keep me ; if I dream 
let me not be awakened. Dream ? No, it is reality. He is 
faithful and true — and he loves me ! 

James {without). I tell you Mr. Waldemar is not at 
home. 

Rame. {at C. D.). I tell you he is here. And I will see 
him. 



26 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

James {staiids in front of hint). You must not enter; 
if you insist I shall be obliged to use force. {Takes hold of 
his blouse.) 

Rame. Let go. You might tear my velvet collar. Let 
go, I say — you ape! {TJirows James aside.) 

Edith {goes np). What is the trouble ? 

James. This man insists on entering the house ; my 
orders are to prevent every one from disturbing the household. 

Rame. Ah, that is quite different. First he repeats like 
a parrot, " Master is not in, my master is not in ; " now, '• We 
are not to be disturbed." 

Edith (goes l., with Ja^^ies. Ramenoff doztm R.). I 
w^ill ask his message ; you need not wait. 

James. Very well,' Miss Edith, but I think— (Edith 
?notions to James) very well, Miss Edith. 
{Exit James, d. l.) 

Rame. (r.). Is it true that Frederick W^aldemar is not in 
the house 1 

Edith. Yes. Why do you doubt the servant ? 

Rame. It is polite to lie sometimes in good society. Be- 
sides, I do not want to believe. 

Edith. Will you believe me when I say he is not at 
home 1 

Rame. {looks at her closely). Yes, I will believe you. 

Edith. And will you be offended if I ask you to take off 
your hat.'* 

Rame. {takes of hat, after a pause steps up close to her). 
A.re you alone here in this house .'* I was told there was 
another woman. 

Edith. My mother. 

Rame. So — and who is she ? 

Edith. Mrs. Waldemar is my mother. 

Rame. Then he is married ; and you — 

Edith. Mrs. Waldemar adopted ine. 

Rame. Hm ! {Aside.) Strange! Well, you have been 
here a — (Edith looks uneasy.) But I disturb you .? I will 
wait outside. {Goes up.) 

Edith. You can wait here. If you have come for assist- 
ance you will not be refused. No deserving person ever goes 
away from here without receiving help. Can I help you? 

Rame. No ! you haven't the power to help ; I do not want 
money. Do you receive those who are driven here by their 
misery ? 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 2/ 

Edith. Yes. 

Rame. You have a kind heart. 
Edith. I onlv do what I was taught. 
Rame. Is it Frederick Waldemar who has taught you to 
be so kind? 

Edith. What do you mean ? ,,.,^-11 u<. 

R\ME. Nothing. I am tired; I thmk I will go. He 
mav not come back for some time. I walked a long way 
from the place where I was last week to this village. I asked 
for food when I came ; I shovelled coal to earn it I was put 
in the mill to weave, but my hands are stiff. I do not know 
the work very well, I grow tired quick ; I am getting old. 

Edith {j-olls a chair to him). Sit down and rest your- 
self 

Rame. (hesitates and stares at Edith). You are very 
lovely, my good lady. It seems as though I had seen your 
face somewhere a long time ago. (^Puts his hand to his fore- 
head.) But it is impossible. 

Edith. I have always lived here. I know everybody 
around for miles, but I never saw you before. 

R\me. You may have appeared to me m my dreams as 
tlie Virgin in the old time appeared to the shepherds. Your 
pardon,"my pretty lady. {Sits down wearily.) 

Edith (aside). Poor man, how I woula like to help him. 
Are you alone? Have you no friends or family ? 
Rame. 1 am alone — an outcast — shunned by all. 
Edith. Not by me. Will you not tell me your trouble? 
Perhaps I can help you. , . , t .u i 

Rame. My very good little lady, you are kind, 1 thank 
you • but you cannot take away my sorrow norlitt my burden. 
Edith' We bear our sorrows easier when shared w"th 
others. I suffer (Ramenoff locks up) when I see others 
suffer. I shed tears with them and console them. Some at 
first refuse me, but I beg and plead, and at last they tell me. 
1 try to comfort them. When I leave they bid me come 
again, for they all love me. 
^Rame. {looks spellbound at her). They do right, my 
prettv one. They s'.iould love you. 

Edith. And will you confide in me your trouble and 

sorrow ? tt- i <- 

Rame. {rising). I cannot— I dare not. — You do not 

know what I am. 

Edith. Yes, I know. 



28 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

Ra'sik. (anxw7islj'). What? 
Ed'TH. An unhappy man. 

Rame. Oh, when did any one speak like this to me ! But 
it is too late — too late. 

Edith. It is never too late. God who rules over all — 
Rame. God ! No, the devil ! 
Edith. No, God ! 

(Ramenoff doTOS his head, overcome by the truth of her 
words. Enter Isabel, c. d., dressed as if returning from 
a walk.) 

Isa. The servant tells me you insist on seeing my hus- 
band. We do not like to be disturbed by the factory people. 
Mr. Waldemar will see you at the office to-morrow, or you 
can tell me and I will deliver your message to him. What 
do you wish ? 

Rame. {looks dreamily at Edith). Nothing. 

IsA. Then why do you intrude } A respectable person 
would not force his way — 

Rame. {ajigrilv). Respectable! So I am not nice enough 
to be here. But I think I have aright to come. What harm 
if 1 pushed the fellow a little } 

ISA. You have no right to come where you are not wanted. 
Go! 

Edtth. Mother, he is poor and unhappy. 

Rame. Do not trouble yourself, my good lady. I do not 
wish to make harm. But you. madam, are hard and not like 
her. I am not so fine as the gentlemen who come here. 
My shoes are not so shining, and my clothes are poor. I 
should be in broadcloth and white shirt, have a tall hat and 
a cane with a silver head. Ladies are fond of nice-looking 
clothes. They sometimes excuse bad morals, but a bad coat 
and bad manners, never! 

IsA. You are insolent and undeserving. You can expect 
nothing here. Go ! 

Edith. Mother, I beseech you — 

Rame. You show me the door .^ You turn me out? 
Maybe I had better stay and tell you a little romance. Per- 
haps it will interest you. (Isabel holds her hand above the 
bell on table.) You are concerned in this romance. Are you 
not curious ? 

IsA. {steps towards him). Tell your story quickly and 
begone. 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 2<) 

Rame. It is my duty to tell you. But to you alone. 
This youns:; lady must not hear it. 

IsA. Edith, you may leave me. 

Edith. 1 dare not, he is so strange. 

IsA. Have no fear, child; should I need you, I will ring 
the bell. 

{Exit Edith slowly d. l.) 

Is A. {to Ramf^noff). I am waiting. 

Rame. (follows Edith and seems to have forgottett IsA- 
n: L). I cannot tell it. I had better go. When I first saw 
the light of day I looked on misery, and it has been my com- 
rade all through my life. I am no lucky dog. I bring mis- 
fortune. I would not hurt any one now. The pretty little 
one has made my heart soft. I cannot tell you now. {Goes 
lip.) 

IsA. You said your romance concerned me. Who beside 
myself are interested 1 

Rame. I am also concerned, and Frederick Waldemar, my 
one-time comrade — 

IsA. My husband the companion of such as you ! {Tin-ns 
away and langJis ironically.) 

Rame. Yes ! I tell you, yes ! My companion. 

IsA, Your story is too romantic, {Laughs) 

Rame. You laugh at me .'' Oh, madam, I can make you 
cry. 

I s A. {alarmed ; goes to table L., holds her hand over the bell). 
You are insulting, I will call those who can assist you to 
leave. 

Rame. That is right. Ring the bell. {She hesitates.) 
Ring it, I say ! Call them in ! All, every one ! They shall 
hear the story of my wrongs ! {She takes her hatid from the 
bell.) Look, madam. {Goes to her and bares his left arm 
to the elbow.) A white mark! another! See I Five, ten, 
fifteen scars. I scratched them with a knife, each year one. 
When the day came round that he left me. and I did not 
hear from him. 1 made a mark here on my arm, and then they 
told me there was a pardon, and 1 was tree. PVee ! After 
fit'teen years! Oh, madam, it seemed like fifty years, it was 
so long! And I said, I will make another mask, but not 
tliere. {Points to his arm.) Here! {Strikes his breast.) 
On him ! He was false to me. He took an oath to care for 
my wife and little one. He let them starve. Listen to me ! 
They starved ! I gave him money ! And when he left my 



30 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

cell I stood looking; after him. I could not see, for the tears 
blinded me, and the hot tallow from the candle dropped on 
my hand, but I did not feel it. Oh, I can now hear the 
sleiuh bells rin<2: as he was driven away. Then I \vaited. I 
heard from him, but only once. The years came and 
passed, and I said, when I am free I will find him ; yes, if I 
c\\<f him from the grave ! There should be honor even amon^: 
the thieves. He stood up so proud like a king, and the rats 
th.ev were plenty in his cell, so we called him a king: Z)er 
Ra'tteti Koenio; — the rat king. I fear I disturb you with my 
romance, madam. 

IsA. {chokiHo voice). You are mad ! 

Rame. No ! Do you not see how quiet I am ? 

Is A. Of whom are you speaking ? 

Rame. Your husband ! 

ISA. Monster! You lie! Where is your proof .f* 

Rame. Here. (^Takes papers and letters from pocket.) 
The letter he wrote to me in prison — and here the notice 
where he was sentenced. Read it, I say ! You cannot read 
the German ? See, here is his name. '{Points to the bottom 
of letter.) Frederick Waklemar. (Isabel titters a faint 
cry and sinks into chair.) 

Rame. {puts package in pocket). I should not have told 
you only for the laughing — but that hurts. She is silent. 
She does not lauiih now. {Goes to D. c.) There is nothing 
funny in Frederick Waldemar, the Rat King. 
{Exit C. D.) 

\'s\. {slowly revivinf). He has gone! What a terrible 
blow to my pride ! Oh, what would 1 give to wipe out the 
stain ! {Rises.) Could any one have heard him t {Looks 
in the doors.) No, or they would have come to my assist- 
ance. He said they were together in — he threatened to — 
I must warn him — he sliall not injure my husband — hus- 
band ! And 1 am the wife of a — I must see him to prove it 
is false. Alas ! he cannot, it is the truth. The look of anx- 
iety that he sometimes wears — it was not fancy when I felt 
so distrustful. This is the answer to my doubts, and he has 
deceived me all these years. I will seek my fatiier and take 
my child. Together we will l'-o tar from here. I cannot look 
upon his face again. My idol has turned to clay. 

{Exit D. L.) 
(77/6' stai::^e is eriiptj for a few /no?nents., then enter Capt. 

A., D. c. He carries a la7'ge boiiqztet j looks arou7id 

cautiously.) 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 31 

C\PT A. It won't do for me to rehearse on the lawn, I 
mi-^ht have an audience. This is a splendid chance — 
couldn't ask for a better one. {Stands at c.) There s the 
vouno- hidy — here is the bouquet. The object in the point 
is to present bouquet to young lady — make an impression, 
as it were ; then while she is impressed with my — my kind- ^ 
ness approach the important question, and so forth. {Holds 
bouquet awkwardly towards R.) Will you accept these 
flowers as a token of mv — esteem — and — and {draws 
out a paper from his pocket and reads) may their beauty 
be a reminder — reminder is bad, I'll fix that — remind you 
or recall — recall is good {reads) — as you gaze upon them, the 
state of mv feelings toward you. I think it would be more 
to the point if I kneel. {Kneels; reads from paper.) The 
deepest feelings of the human heart are otlen hard to express, 
and that's mv case exactlv — exactly is bad — I 11 fix that. 
{Lays down bouquet; takes pencil and writes.) Confound 
the luck ! I would have been all through if he'd kept out ot 
the way. I will make a clean breast of it to Frederick, ^o 
doubt he will be surprised ; but I'm in for it, and so here 
goes ! (Rises.) Forward ! march ! {Goes up stage.) 
{Enter Frederick, c. d.; does not see Capt. A. Comes 
down.) . . , T u J 

Wal. I should have waited until he returned, but 1 had 
not the patience — no, it was terror. I rushed home, dread- 
ino- to meet any one lest thev should read the secret in my 
face startled by the sound of mv own footsteps, creeping 
like 'a thief through the woods. What have I done to be so 
tortured ? Shall one misguided act outweigh years ot honest 
labor and moral conduct ^ What a coward conscience has 
made of me ! (Removes hat and lays it along with cane on 
table.) 

Capt. A. {comes down). Frederick — 
Wal. {starts). You surprised me. 

Capt. A. I should say so — you're as fidgety as a woman. 

Ahem ! I won't disturb vou but a moment. I have something 

on mv mind, but now when I come to the point it's just as 

hard as ever. Hem ! Don't you think it would be too bad 

if we lost Edith, that is if she was married and went away ? 

Wal. I shall miss her, but we ought not to stand in the 

way of her happiness. , ,, ,. 

Capt. A. No doubt. But it might be so arranged that 

she would remain here. Ahem ! 1 am willing to have it so. 

Wal. They can decide that matter tor themselves. 



32 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

Capt. a. They ? Who ? 

Wal. Arthur and Edith. I liave felt for some time that 
this would be the result. Two such natures could not be 
together long without mutual attraction. It is for the best, 
and I shall aid them to realize their hope. 1 opposed 
Arthur at first, but it was useless. {Goes to window.') 

Capt. A. Arthur and Edith ? {Aside.) This is treach- 
ery. {Takes cane from table, makes thrusts and passes.) 
Would that duels were fashionable. 

Wal. {turns and sees him). Are you crazy ? 

Capt. A. Ahem! Em practising the broadsword exer- 
cise. This news surprises me; I must work oif my — what 
is it ? — surplus feelings. 

Wal. a singular way you have of doing so. {Looks out 
of window.) 

Capt. A. {draniatic manner j aside). As the poet says,— 
" 'Twas ever thus : from childliood's hour, 
Eve seen my fondest hopes decay ; 
I never loved a tree or flower 

But "twas sure to" — to — something and so 
forth. {Goes up.) 

Wal. Are you going ? 

Capt. A. Right about face ! March ! 
{Exit C. D.) 

Wal. Would that I had so light a heart. He skims the 
surface of hfe, while I am shaken by its deepest trials. 
{Sinks into a chair at l., buries his face in his hands. 
After a pause, enter Edith, l.) 

Edith. I wonder who he was — he is so strange and so 
wretched. Oh, why cannot every one be as happy as I am ! 
{Sees Waldemar ; goes to him and smooths his forehead.) 
Does your head ache 1 

Wal. {looks at her dreamily). Have you been here long ? 

Edith. A few moments. {Sits at his feet.) Come back 
from dreamland and talk to me. 

Wal. I did not hear you come in. I was thinking. 

Edith. May I know your thoughts ? 

Wal. I was thinking of the future, of you and Arthur, 
— of your mother, of this day so full of interest to us all. 

Edith. The happiest, brightest day I have ever known. 

Wal. {takes her Jiand). Arthur has told you 1 

Edith. Yes. 

Wal. Then you will before another year has passed 
leave us to enter your own home. This day has brought 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 33 

joy to you and sorrow to otliers. How mysterious are the 
ways of life. It seems to be inevitable that there sliall be no 
gain without loss, no pleasure without pain, no success with- 
out possible defeat. You are very dear to me, and it will be 
hard to part from you. 

Edith. Why need we part ? 

Wal. It is best. The young bird seeks a new nest. 

Edith. But it may be near the old one, within reach of 
the old home. 

W^AL. Yes. I trust it may; but, Edith, do not be too 
sure of your happiness. {Bends towards her earnestly.) 
Suppose anything should come between you and the fulfil- 
ment of your hopes, making it impossible to realize them. 
Suppose you should hear an evil report concerning Arthur's 
life in the years he has been away. Imagine he had been 
tempted and fallen, been guilty of a crime, and, though bit- 
terly repenting, yet must bear the mark of this crime deeply 
printed on his soul through life. Could you still love him 
and be true .^ 

Edith. I — do not speak so. If he had fallen it would 
break my heart. {Bows her head.) 

Wal. Would you forgive him ? 

Edith {raises her head and clasps her hands). Yes! 
I would forgive and cling to him, even though he were 
guilty. I would follow him even to prison, 

Wal. Hea'\'en bless you for those words, but do not fear ; 
your devotion will never be put to such a trial. He has com- 
mitted no crime. He is all you believe him to be. 

Edith. You were so earnest I feared you meant it. 

V^Ai.. {rising and lifting Y^uiTH). I wished to test your 
loyalty. Sing! Dance! Give expression to your joy, for 
you have reason to be proud of him. Go to him in all trust 
and confidence, he is worthy of a queen. 

Edith. I would have loved him even if he had done 
wrong, but I am glad I have nothing to forgive. {Exit D. R.) 

Wal. She would have clung to her lover if he were in 
prison, guilty, an outcast, a criminal. A wife ought to be as 
true. I will appeal to her. {Rings bell.) Confess what I 
should have told her years ago. She will forgive me. 
{Enter James, d. r.) Tell Mrs. Waldemar I would like 10 
see her if she is at liberty. 

JAMES. Yes, sir. {Exit d. l.) 

Wal. It was just such a day as this when I came here, 
footsore, weary, almost penniless, carrying the little child in 



34 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

my arms. I sat down by the 2:ate to rest. Little Edith 
cried to see me so miserable. How it comes back to me ! 
Isabel was gathering fiovvers. She came to the gate and 
looked down upon us, at first with idle curious glance, and 
then with interest and compassion. She told me to come 
into the house, gave the little one flowers, dried her tears. 
How gently she questioned me. Would I like work ? Her 
father owned the mill ; if I wished, perhaps a place could be 
found for me — and while she talked caressed the child. She 
believed me worthy her confidence, and now I must confess, 
I — deceived her— that my name was dishonored. Where 
I have been so long the master, I must humbly bow and 
pray for pardon. Oh, merciful Heaven ! give me strength 
to bear it. (A inovienfs silence. Eutej' James, l.) 

James. Mrs. Waldemar is not in. She has gone to ride. 

Wal. Gone? Where is her father? 

James. He is with her, and Mamie also, 

Wal. Let me know at once when tney return. {With 
assHiiied ligJitness.') How is it about our evening's enter- 
tainment ? Are all necessary preparations completed? 

James. I think so, but I will inquire. 

Wal. {feverish excitement^. See that nothing is for- 
gotten. We should rejoice ! Let the people dance and 
sing. Let them make noise! They are too cold! You 
Am'ericans are like ice ! Were we in Europe \ would show 
you what it is to celebrate a day like this. It's a great day, 
James, but how still ! one might think it was a day — of 
mourning and calamity. 

James. It is somewhat quiet, sir, but we can easily mend 
That, i remember when little Bella was born, how they re- 
joiced. Mr. Arnold rushed into the mill and pulled the bell 
rope until his strength gave out. Every one came running 
to die place, thinking there was a fire, 1 was quite a lad 
then, and Mr. Arnold set me pulling the rope when he gave 
out. It was a great day, and he was excusable, for they 
wanted a little girl and it had come at last. 

Wal. {still excited). Good ! The bell shall ring again 
to-night. See that it is done. 

James. Yis, sir! {Exit CD.) 

Wal. How still it is ! I feel as if the very walls were 
closing in upon me. The air is stifling I She has gone and 
left me here — alone ! What if she should not return. — and 
I should be forever — alone ! Alone! (Sinks into a chair, 
his head on table. Slow curtain.) 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 35 

ACT III. 

EVENING. 

Sc^NE — The same as in Act I. Illumination of grounds 

be^ond balustrade. Lights down. Moonlight on front 

sta^e. Antique table, L Large table, ^. Pistol box on 

antique table, L., also bouquet Ukuim gave to Waldemar 

in Act I. Clear stage at rise of curtain. 

Capt a (entering, L). The more I try to liven up the 

occasion, the worse it goes. It's uphill work. Tried to 

propose and failed. Tried to liven up the situation with 

^^^ercise — failed ! My mission seems to be to try, and — 

fail (Goes up and looks ojf, L.) That renegade ! Speak 

Of- of somebody, and he is sure to appear. How serious 

he looks ! If I had his luck I'd sing and dance. Well, he — 

{enter, l., Manly; he comes doivn c, looking abstracted) 

is a joily specimen of a bridegroom. ^ 

Man' (turns round). Kendrick ? , r u 

Capt. A. {mock solemnity). I have spared you lOr her 
sake. A less — hm ! — a less — what shall 1 say ? 

Man Say nothing — at least, I mean, on that subject; 
1-t bygones be bygones and give me the credit of trying to 
keep her in the family, for I believe that was your motive. ^ 
C\PT. A. Well, i't might be worse, {lakes Manly s 
hand^ Arthur, I wish you joy, 'pon my word 1 do Next 
to winning the prize myself, 1 would prefer you should be the 
fortunate one. Let's bury the pipe, I mean the hatchet, and 
smoke the cigarette of peace. {Liohts a cigarette^ I 
would offer you one, but you do not sm.oke, so 1 11 smoke tor 

^°Man. Do you think anything could make you serious ? 
Capt. A. {'pufs violently). Yes ! 
Man. What'? . ,. ^ 

C-\PT. A. Real trouble. If those I love were in distress 
or dancrer 1 believe I'd come out strong. But I see no acca- 
sion iox sadness ; then whv be sad ? We must set the ball 
to rolling soon. Lanternk to light, dancing on the lawn, 
music, and so forth. I propose to have a little surprise, 
quartette singing. You went back on me, and now we 
must make up for lost time. 



36 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

{Enter Edtth />'<?/;/ ho7tse.) 
Man. (Jitriis ajid sees her). Edith ! 

Capt. a. {aside to Manly). Don't let out too strong. 
Man. {goes to her). We have been talking about our 
arrangements for this evening. {Takes her hand and comes 
front., R. Qh^vi. goes up L.) 

Edith {looks after Capt.). Do not let me interrupt you, 
dear uncle. 

Capt. A. {to Edith). I was saying that we must hurry 
with our preparations. I've had' to shoulder the whole. 
Arthur, just a moment. Will you excuse him.? My dear! 
Hm! — 

Edith {surprised^. Why, yes, if you need his help. 

Capt. A. I won't carry him off. 

Man. {goes to hiin). What is it.? 

Capt. A. {low tone). Had you just as lief not hold her 
hand while I'm in sight? 

Man. {laughs). Is it disagreeable ? 

Capt. A. Rather so. Let me down easy. 

Man. I'll be careful. 

Capt. A. Thanks ! {Pnffs on cigarette.) 

'MAT<i. {returns to Edith). Has your mother returned.? 

Edith. No ! The house seemed so lonesome without 
her, I could not stay, and father keeps by himself, so I felt 
quite deserted. Can I help you and uncle in your plans for 
the entertainment.? 

Man. I should be very happy to have your assistance. 
{Adjusts her lace shawl.) Be careful about walking on the 
lawn, the dew is falling. {Bends over her.) 

Capt. A. {turns away). Arthur! 

Man. {low tone). If you should come to harm, I would 
never forgive myself. 

Capt. A. Arthur ! 

Edith. Uncle is calling you. 

Man. {to Capt.). Well ? 

Capt. A. Let up just a little, please ! 

Man. I was advising her to be careful, and — 

Capt. A. That's all right. Make it as easy for me as 
you can. {Comes front.) 

Man. (c. stage, Capt. l.. Edith r.). I think Edith may 
suggest something, Kendrick, that would add to the even- 
ing's enjoyment. 

Capt. A. I am ready for any suggestion. My dear ! 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 3/ 

Ahem! {Aside to Arthur.) Arthur! (Edith looks 
down thoughtfully.) 

Man. Wdl! 

Capt. a. Do you mind if I call her " my clear " ? 

Man. Nonsense! {To Edith.) Does the spirit 
move ? 

Edith, I have it. A rose wreath 1 

Capt. A. What for ? 

Edith. A rose wreath is the emblem of fidelity. In 
Austria they hav - a large wreath at the wedding, and it is 
given to the bride after'the ceremony is performed. Father 
would know about it. Oh ! it would be splendid. I will 
manage it. Father and mother together, and Mamie holding 
the rose wreath, she could repeat a little verse. Dear uncle, 
you could write a few lines — a little poem ? 

Capt. A. Ahem ! My talents don't run in that direction. 
'Twould take till next birthday party to think of anything. 
You had better try it, Arthur. {Goes up.) 

Man. It is a charming idea. Your loving heart alone 
could suggest it. {Bends over her tenderly.) May the day 
soon come when I can offer you the rose wreath. 

Capt. A. {turns and sees them). Great Jupiter ! {Exit 
rapidly., whistling, L. 3 e.) 

Edith. You forget that uncle is here. {Looks up?) Oh! 
{Laughs.) He has deserted us. 

Man. I fear I am the cause of it. Well, I can make 
amends by helping him. {Turns to go. Enter Waldemar 
from house:) Make the rose wreath, I will turn poet for 
your sake, and you can arrange the rest. 

Wal. {steps forward). A rose wreath ? For whom ? 

Edith. For — I — oh, I thought perhaps it would please 
you and mother. 

Wal. Forme? No! No! Not for me ! That simple 
custom is for the young, those who are at the threshold of 
wedded life. Keep the wreath for yourself. {Takes their 
hands and unites them.) Let imagination, hope, and love 
bring every charm to aid your happiness, but above all keep 
nothing from each other. There can be no enduring happi- 
ness when faith is lost. {Goes up stage and looks off.) 

Edith {goes towards house, turns on the steps ; to 
Arthur). Arthur, I love you ! {Exit into house. Manly 
follows her to the steps. Waldemar co7nes down.) 

Wal. The die is cast, Arthur, and you cannot turn back. 



38 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

What a treasure you have won ! She will be faithful unto 
death. There is no trace of pride or selfishness in her 
nature. 

Man. a treasure I shall guard with all my strength while 
life endures. I owe this blessing to you. How can I ever 
repay you ? 

Wal. You may have the opportunity to show your cour- 
age and devotion ere long. 

Max. Vou are still in dread of this fellow ? 

Wal. Yes. Uncertainty is always terrible. He will 
surely come. But when } Perhaps when he may cause 
deadly injury. 

{Enter James, l. 3 e.) 

James. That fellow is here again. Shall I let him enter, 
sir ? 

Wal. Yes, I will see him here. 

James. Yes, sir. 

{Exit L. 3 E.) 

Wal. At last ! Arthur, go in and see to it that Edith 
does not meet him or overhear us. Keep her in ignorance 
for her sake and your own. 

Man. {on steps). I will obey your commands, but if you 
need me call. You shall not be a sacrifice on the altar of 
our happiness. 

{Exit Manly into hoj(Se.) 

Wal. If he knew the true cause of my fear, would he 
speak such words ? 
{Enter James, showing; in Ramenoff. Points to Wal.) 

James. This is Mr. Waldemar. {To Waldemar.) Do 
you wish me to remain here, sir.'* 

Wal. No! Remain in the garden and allow no one to 
disturb me. 

(James bows ; looks sharply at Ramenoff, and exit.') 

Wal. ( front l., turns and looks for a few moments at 
Ramenoff; aside). Courage! It is he ! 

Rame. {comes slowly front, looking at Wal.), You are 
glad to see me ? {V^Ai^.tnrnsaway.) No.'' I am happy 
to see you. {Looks around and plucks a flower from vase, 
p aying with it.) You have a fine place, quite a change it 
must be for one who has been under some restraint. Every- 
thing is beautiful, fine, and the appearance is changed. No 
stripes in the clothes now, my fine comrade. We like the 
plain goods better. Heh ! 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 39 

Wal. Stop ! Cease your mockery, and tell me what you 
want. 

Rame. Not so fast, my good friend. I have waited so 
lonij, I can take a little time now. I have been looking for- 
ward to this meeting for many years. I cannot lose one bit 
of my pleasure. 

Wal. Can you find pleasure in torture ? 

Rame. Torture ? It is I who have known that. I had 
years of it, suffering the torments of the damned while you 
— you have lived in Paradise. I have some feeling, and I 
want a better greeting than this after so long a parting. We 
were in the same boat, my fine fellow ; you took a short voy- 
age and I a long one, but we were in the same boat. 
'^Wal. Name the price of your silence, I will give it if it is 
in my power, but only on one condition — that you leave this 
place and never return. I have buried the past and atoned 
for it. ^ , 

Rame. So ! I'm not welcome. You are not proud of 
me ! 

Wal. {contemptuously). Be done with this. Name your 
price and go I 

Rame. My price .? Ah, my good friend, your money can- 
not buy what I want. There was a time when money could 
have served, but now it cannot. Will money bring back the 
dead ? 

Wal. {aside). He thinks they are both dead. 

Rame. I was not so bad company for you in the old days. 
Who was your friend in prison ? Me. Whose arm stopped 
the blow that would have cost you your life.? Mhie ! In 
return I asked that you should care for my wife and child. I 
have come to call you to account. 

Wal. If you came to me in true repentance ! If you 
were ashamed of the past, but in this way — 

Rame. {excited). Ashamed ! What was it I did ? I 
robbed ; yes ! A rich man who had himself stolen from 
others many times the little money I took from him. What 
of it? This — he stole by the law, I against the law. He 
rolls on in his carriage, and me they sent to prison. Ashamed .? 
Yes — that I took so little. (Waldemar turns away.) 
You turn away from me ? I will obey you and stop this 
idle talking. Listen! 

\N xi.. {turns quickly). Hush! Not so loud ! 

Rame. Hear what I tell you. When you left me sixteen 



40 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

years ago this winter past, I thought you were my friend. 
You wrote me, and I answered your letter ; it came back to 
me ; on it was written, '• Not to be found. There is no such 
person here." You were gone and you could so easily have left 
word. You could have written, but no ! It was too much 
trouble, or you thought, " He is buried alive ; perhaps he will 
die and never call me to account." After a time a inan from 
our city was thrown into prison. He was put in your cell. 
(Waldemar s/ar/s.) That hurts .'' He! Think of me in 
a living tomb, what I felt when he told me the mother and 
child were dead. I would not believe it. I had faith in you 
and your lying face. Years went by, and at last they told 
me there was a cutdown for good conduct and I was free. 
Free at last ! I had been very quiet and made no trouble, 
but in here {points to his breast) a fire burns. I left the 
prison, hid away my little money in the belt, saying to my- 
self, ''They must be living. I will save the money for them, 
they may need it." Fool that I was ! I carried my shoes 
to save them, walked when I was sick and should ride, lived 
on bread when I needed meat. For what ? To find a grave 
in the paupers' field. {Breaks down.') 

Wal. {affected). Ramenoff! 

Ram. {sudden outburst). But I threw myself on that 
grave, and I took an oath, " They shall be revenged." 

Wal. On whom ? 

Rame. On you. For you let them starve as if they were 
doirs. and stole the money I gave you. 

Wal. You wrong me. I kept my promise — cared for 
them — did all I could to improve their condition. I spent 
all you gave me, worked at hard, laborious employment such 
as I would once have scorned, and spent my earnings for 
them. But I soon lost my place. Some one told my em- 
ployer who I was and where I had been. He paid me off 
and said there was no work for me. I tried again — earned 
a little, was turned away with the remark, " We want no 
jailbirds here." 

Rame. The ruffian ! I could kill such a man. 

Wal. Then we suffered together — we lacked for food, 
the mother was sick, when I arrived she failed rapidly — 
and — 

Rame. {after a momenfs silence bows his head). The 
mother first, then the little one. Mein kleiftes Gretchen; 
I can see her now with yellow curls around her forehead ! 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 4I 

she could just talk a few words then. Oh, that she had lived ! 
She might have fallen in good hands and been different from 
me. In my dreams I would see her a young woman good 
and lovely. I do not call myself a saint, but I'm not so bad 
either. I loved her — I tell you I loved her. Foolish 
dreams, foolish! Ha, ha, ha! Ach, ineiii Gott ! {Sinks 
into a chair and sobs.) 

Wal. {after a pause). Ramenoff! They told you wrong 
— the grave was in the churchyard, not the paupers' field. 
I placed a stone to mark the spot — placed it with my own 
hands. 

Rame. In the churchyard .? Do you speak the truth ? 
They told me wrong ? 

Wal. Yes. If ever you go back to our country you can 
find it and see that I tell the truth. 

Rame. Back 1 No, never ! But I believe you tell what 
is true. And the little one — she is by the mother ? Her 
name is there — and the age, like she was the child pf—of, 
you know what I would say ? Is it so ? 

Wal. {abruptly). I have told you the truth. Now for 
my sake go from here peaceably. Go to some distant 
place. I will help you to do better, give you money, and aid 
you in starting life over again. You can atone for the past 
and be honest. 

Rame. Honest ! You change your tune to me. I'm now 
the mi-^erable outcast, and you the honest man. But I will 
not quarrel. You have kept your word to me, and for that 
I thank you. Do not say to me, go ! I shall go when I 
like and stay when I please. 

Wal. (angry). Can you not understand there is nothing 
between us? With your record and your feeling you can 
only do harm. Your crime was great, mine a trifling affair in 
comparison. 

Rame. Trifling.-' Your wife, she did not think so. 

Wal. {confused). What ? 

Rame. Your wife felt bad when I told her. 

Wal. No, you could not, you would not be such a fiend. 

Rame. She laughed at me, and would throw me out as if 
I was some rubbish. Then I — 

Wal. {frantically springs at him). Oh, you scoundrel ! 

Rame. {steps back coolly). Do you want to go again to 
prison } 

Wal. {throws up his hands). You have made the whole 



42 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

world a prison to me {Sinks mto a chair near table • buries 
his face in his hands.) ^ (juries 

Rame I did not think -I was mad — but it is not so 
bad that ,t cannot be mended. What is it I have done ? 

Wal. {slow/y rising). You have robbed me of my wife ' 
You could not spare even her. Your envious nature longed 
to see her crushed and broken. You looked upon her in'ail 
her pru e so fl.r abov-e you, and thought to humble tha pride 
urrow that smooth brow with anguish, blanch those cheeks 
xvith feaT, wnng tears from those bright eyes. Oh, hovv si e 
must suffer from your brutal hatred! You might have aken 
from me al the fruit of my years of labor, deduced me to 

fobllf' '"'V'°''' ""^ ^ ^""^^ ^^'-'^'^ >'«"• But vou have 
robbed me of my greatest treasure -that I can never for! 
give. You have finished your work. Now go ' 

1- ?^^T^- .,/ ''■'" ^^- (^^^'-'^-^ to go up.) 1 will tell her I 
hed. I will try and save you. 

Wal You cannot save me. But let me tell you some- 
thmg that mav awaken a pang of remorse You s;,v n,, 
oved your child .. She liL^- (RAMrN0Pp'^.";J5^,/°,^ 
fo^r'pLisllment' You shall never see her. That slfall be . 

Rame. My little Gretchen lives .? Not see her.' This 
would be a terrible punishment. You cannot mean it. I did 
wrong and I'm very sorry for it. I would give a great deal 
now to make things right. Think of what you do. Tell me 
where she is. ■' ^ 

{Music from house. ) 
Wal. No, go ! ^ 

Rame J will go where she is and stand where I can see 
her but I will not tell her who I am. Let me see herf 
Wal. Never ! 

..,-£''"'"'{ -li ^'-^y^ wronged you, but siill you have a home, a 
wife, a child, riches and honor. What have I } Poverty and 
rags. Let me see my little Gretchen ^ 

. ^."^i^-yf^'ti^^g)' Of what use is it .' She is no longer 
a child but a woman in whose presence you should fear to 
go. She IS in the midst of loving friends, engaged to be 

end to all this and destroy her happiness forever. 

Rame. 1 promise you I will not betray myself. {Listens.) 
liiat song ! I know it ! Who plays ? ^ ^ 

Wal. Your daughter. 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 43 

Rame. {excited). My daughter ! I will see her. {Starts 
towards house.) 

Wal. {sfops hi}fi). Not there! Here! Look to it — 
keep your promise. Do not ruin her happiness, as you have 
mine. {Calls.) Edith ! 

Rame. Edith ! No, Gretchen ! 

Wal. I call her Edith. {Calls.) Edith ! 
{Music stops.)' 

Rame. Even the name I gave her is taken away. 
{Enter Edith from house ; she stands on the steps leading 

to house where the moonlight falls on her. She is dressed 

in white and wears a lace shawl.) 

Edith. Father, was it you who called ? 

Rame, {aside). She calls him father. {AloJid, standifig 
c, up stage.) Yes. {Aside.) I did not dream when I 
thought I had seen that face before. It is my peasant wife 
before me a lady. {Goes to her sloivly.) You were very 
kind to me, and so, as I go from this place now forever, I 
thought I would hke to see you once again and tell you — 
good-by. {Bows.) 

Edith {extetids her hand). I am sorry you are so un- 
happy. 

Rame. {about to take her hand., draws back., then lifts the 
shawl to his face). My little one ! 

Wal. {low tone). Ramenofif! 

Rame. Alein kleiiies Gretchen! 

Wal. Dein versprechen ! 

Rame. {retreating). Yes, yes ! My little Gretchen is 
dead. {Going r. slowly.) To me forever she is dead ! 
{Exit slowly, R.) 

Edith {coming down). His little girl is dead ? 

Wal. He lost her many years ago. 

Edith. And he still thinks of her and loves her ? Can 
you help him ? Promise me you will. 

Wal. I will, if it is in my power. 

Edith {embraces him). I thank you. 

Wal. I wish to be alone. Forget this scene and be 
hapi)y, I am poor company to-day. 

Edith {zuhile goiiio). Come as soon as you can to see 
the grounds. Uncle is working hard, and Arthur and 1 have 
promised to help him. Will you come t ♦ 

Wal. Perhaps. Before long. 



44 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

{^Exit Edith, r. 3 e., throwing a kiss to Waldemar, who 

looks after her.) 

Wal. She will be happy. A bri<iht future awaits her. 
The future ! What will it bring to me ? Disgrace and ruin. 
{Goes sloivly to chair at small table j sits.) Disgrace ! Worse 
than death. Oh, what joy to forget, to sink into oblivion for- 
ever ! {//and falls on pistol-box. Pries it open with pocket 
knife., takes pistol and sloivly raises it. Sees the bouquet 
Mamie ^^^7'^ him., takes itnp; his hand with pistol drops 
down, //olds bouqtiet to his lips and then leans his head 
on his hands. Enter Manly from house ; goes to Wal- 
demar.) 

Man. a new misfortune? 

Wal. {raising head). No. He has gone and promised 
never to return. 

Man. Thank Heaven ! 

Wal. Do you still feel the same ? Are you willing to 
abide by the result 'i 

Man. I am ; nothing can change me. 

Wal. Edith is waiting for you. Go to her, and make the 
most of your happiness. " Love's young dream." 

Man. I hope you will overcome this depression. It mars 
our pleasure. [Gives him his hand.) I shall never forget 
how loyal you have been. I shall always remember with 
gratitude your untiring devotion. 

{Exit Manly into garden.) 

Wal. I can keep up this farce no longer. I must leave 
this place before exposure and disgrace thrust me forth. I 
will take one last look upon all that is so dear. I will bid 
farewell to the bedside of my child — the dearest spot on 
earth to me. Here, where I have ruled as an emperor, I 
shall be known as an outcast, an exile. 

{Exit slowly into house. Empty stfige for a few mo- 
ments, then enter Capt. A., R. 3 e.) 

Capt. a. Now for the best piece of strategy I ever did. 
Eloquence! come to my aid. Mamie must remain with 
Edith. •' Little pitchers have big ears." F'ather and Isabel 
shall come here. 1 will keep on the left flank, and prevent 
a retreat, and trust to pluck and sharp shooting. {Goes up 
to R. 3 E.) Father! Isabel! {Goes of and returns with 
them.) Head up, sister! Where's your courage .^ 

ISA. {goes to chair, R.). My courage is gone. Destroyed 
by as cruel a blow as ever wife received. You have per- 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 45 

suaded me to come thus far, but every moment I feel how 
impossible it will he to meet him. The very thought makes 
me tremble. I worshipped him — and now to see him so de- 
graded and fallen, and to think he has deceived me so cruelly ! 
(Sods.) 

Myr. {fakes chair, L.). It was cowardly. I loved him as 
a son, — trusted him fully. To think that he should creep 
into our t'iimily like a thief in the night. Our family has 
been honored for generations. There is not a shadow of a 
suspicion as to our integrity. I am justly proud of our 
record. Do you think, Kendrick, that I will submit to have 
it disgraced by a — 

Is A. Father ! Do not speak the word. {Bows her head 
in shame.) 

Capt. a. {wipes his forehead ; aside). It's harder than 
I bargained for. {To them.) I don't know what crime he 
was accused of I don't want to know, — but I do know 
that he has been upright and noble ever since he came 
among us. Let that stand to balance the account. Father, 
you owe him a debt of gratitude for saving your fortune and 
your honor. 

Myr. He saved my fortune, but not my honor. I will 
not accept a compromise in such a matter. He gained access 
to my home, took charge of affairs, and married Isabel under 
false pretences. Kendrick, suppose you were in my place, 
and a man should ask for your daughter's hand in marriage. 
Would you accept him if you knew that he had been in 
prison ? 

Capt. A. I can't imagine it. It strikes me that does not 
touch the difficulty. 

Myr. The marriage was effected through fraud, and 
according to law is null and void. 

Capt. A. The point is : they are married ; we are not 
to form a bond, but we are trying to — to loose what is 
already bound. 

Myr. I will not make any allowance for such sophistry. 
No child of mine shall bear a dishonored name. 

Capt. A. But what name will you give to Mamie ? 

Myr. Mine ! A name she can be proud of 

Capt. A. {aside). If I could get farther out of the way. 
{To Myron.) Isabel is the only one to decide the question. 
Leave it to her. {To Isabel.) What do you propose ? 

Isabel {reluctantly). A separation. 



46 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 

Capt. a. Floored ! {Goes tip and returns.^ Two 
against one. Heavy odds. I can't understand why it is 
that you should turn accuser and I become his champion. 
Our positions should be reversed. Where is your love and 
devotion ? 

ISA. What I loved in him has gone. His honesty, 
loyalty, and truth. What remains awakens no feeling of 
devotion. Look where I may, the walls of a prison stand 
between us. 

Capt. A. Have you thought of the effect on society in 
case of a separation .? Whaf excuse can you offer to account 
for your desertion ~^ 

ISA. Desertion ? He has deceived me for years. 

Capt. A. What can you say to his child, when she 
wonders at her father's absence.'' (Isabel covers her face 
with her hafids j aside.) I've found the key to her heart. 
Father ! I beseech you not to be unjust. I acknowledge 
the appearances are against him. But do not judge him un- 
heard. 

Myr. The notice in that paper, and the letter signed by 
him, are positive proof. 

Capt. A. Who offers this evidence ? An ex-convict ; a 
miserable fellow, — perhaps he does it from hatred. Is it 
fair to condemn on such authority? Come! Give him the 
benefit of the doubt. Let Isabel see him and decide for her- 
self. {Goes to his father.') 

Myr. {rises). Well, be it so. I fear he cannot clear him- 
self But whatever she concludes I will agree to. Daughter, 
remember my teachings. If he be unworthy, do not be per- 
suaded to do wrong. 

{Exit with Captain, r. 3 e.) 

ISA. How can I meet him ? {Enter Waldemar slowly 
fro7n house.) I dare not cross that threshold again. {Sees 
VJa'LT^'EUAK and ttirns away.) 

Wal. If I am the occasion for your fear, you need not 
hesitate. I am going away. 

IsA. {faint voice). You will leave me! Oh, Frederick, 
you know — that wretched man — 

Wal. I know that he met you and told you we were 
together in — 

ISA. Yes. But it is not true? Say it is a slander! I 
will take your word rather than to believe him. You have 
always told me the truth. Speak ! 



OUT OF THE SHADOW. 4/ 

Wal. I cannot. I was in prison for two years. (Isabel 
shrinks away from him.) I was justly accused, tried before 
a court, pleaded guilty ! Was sentenced and served out my 
term (Isabel sinks into chair.) In justice to myselt and 
vou whom I have deceived, it is best for me to tell the nature 
bf mv offence. My father was cashier in a large banking 
liouse in Vienna. I was employed in the same establish- 
ment and had charge of certain funds and securities. He 
speculated with the funds of the bank and lost, i^^- ]!"[;« 
drew near when the examination of the books would be 
made. My father confided in me, — almost crazy with gnet 
and shame at his crime, and fearing exposure - he beg^^ed 
me to think of some way of concealing his loss. Oii the 
impulse of the moment and actuated by love tor him I prom- 
ised to try to save him. Unknown to my fother I placed 
in his drawer funds entrusted to me, and all the cash needed 
to make good his deficiency, — hoping that when they found 
his books balanced with the amount in hand they would be 
satisfied. But I was mistaken. They examined my accounts 
and also those of the other clerks. The chairman ot the 
committee announced that an error had been discovered and 
it woula be necessarv to examine the accounts with still 
greater care. No accusations would be made until they 
were certain, but they believed they had found the guuty 
party. Before he could speak further, the report ot a pistol 
rang through the office — and my father lay dying at our 
feet? We rushed to him — but he was dead. Had he knowai 
that I sacrificed myself to save his honor, perhaps he would 
have stayed his hand. At the trial I pleaded guilty. The 
iudcve asked if I could offer any defense, I answered, no ! 
Ho?v could I ! The law makes no allowance for a son s de- 
votion. How could I prove my innocence? The hps ot 
the only witness who could have spoken in my defence were 
sealed forever. . ^i tt i • i 

ISA. A noble sacrifice, but still a a-ime. Oh, Frederick, 
whv have you kept this from me all these years ? 

Wal. If 1 had told it to you and your father when 1 first 
arrived, your doors would have been closed to me. Oh, how 
often has the confession trembled on my lips. Before we 
were married, I have gone to you determined you should 
know the truth, but at the sound of your voice my courage 
failed. I feared I might lose you. After marriage I dared 
not confess I had deceived you. If you could realize how I 



48 cut OF THE SHADOW. 

Suffered, and still suffer, you would forgive. Have you ever 
had cause to complain of one thoughtless or unkind act ? 

IsA. Oh, no ! {Aside.) My heart cries out to him, but 
my pride can see nothing but a prison wall. 

Wal. Isabel, I have nothing further to say — forget and 
in future forgive me if you can — farewell! {Ttn-ns to 
go. Enter Captain with Mamie. Mamie carries a large 
wreath of white roses; she runs down. Waldemar 
throws his arms around Jier.') My child ! 

Mamie. Papa! See! I am to give mamma this wreath 
of white roses. Mamma, you put your hand this side, and I 
here, papa there. Then I am to say a few words sister 
Edith taught me. Come, mamma ! 

Wal. {looks at Isabel). Can you refuse? 

Is A. {slowly takes wreath, stands R. Waldemar l., 
WkiMY. Q.., each holding wreath; a7td Maui^e., within the 
wreath, holding it up with both hands, repeats verse.') 

Mamie. 

As your hands with mine unite. 
Upon this wreath of purest white, 

May love our hearts imbue ! 
When a year has passed away, 
Again we'll meet to keep this day, 

And our true love renew. 

Wal. Shall her simple words be fulfilled ? 
{Extends right hand to Isabel.) 

Isa. {clasps his hand). She ha^ taught me to forget and 
forgive. Love has conquered pride. {Throws her arins 
around Mamie.) My precious one. You have brought me 
badk to myself and to the path I shall never leave. {Kisses 
her.) 

Wal. {takes her hand). Am I indeed forgiven ? 

Isa. {gives both hands). Frederick, you have taught me 
there is a higher power than the law of man, and in this I 
will believe even as I trust in you. My husband! 

Wal. ( embraces her). My true wife ! 
{Enter all. Factory bell rings. Enter workmen. General 
rejoicing^ 

CURTAIN. 



THE UNIVERSAL STAGE, 



f'' ALWAYS INTENDED. A Comedy in 1 

'• Act. By Hurace Wigaii. 3 male, 3 female char. 

YT.IE ANONYMOCIS KISS. A Vaudeville. 

^> 2 n!a!;^, 2 femalo cliar. 

^ AlJOrilER GLASS. A Drama in 1 Act. 

Bv riionias Morton. <> mule, .'i tVmale char. 

AUNT CHARLOTTfl'S MAID. A Farce 

in 1 Act. liv J. .V. -Morton, o male, 3 female char. 

THE BABE'S IN THE WOOD. A Comedy 

in 3 Acts. Bv loin Tavior. 10 male, 3 fenialo char. 

BLANKS AND PitlZES. A Comedietta 

in 1 Act. Bv Dexter rimith. 6 male, 2 female char. 

BLUE AND CHSRRf. A Comedy in 1 

Ac^ 3 male, 2 female char. 

■BOUQUEi. A Comadietta in 1 Act. By 

.1. A. Woodward. 2 mile, 2 female char. 

BOWLED our. A Faroe in 1 Act. By 

H. T. Craven. 4 male, 3 female char. 

BUOTHER BILL AND ME. A Farce in 

1 A-t. Bv W. E. Siiter. 4 male. 3 female char. 

A BQLL IN A CHINA SHOP. A Comedy 

in 2 Acts. By Charles AV.itthews. 6 male, 4 female 

THE CHRISTENING. A Farce in 1 Act. 

Bv J. B. liu'ksron^. 5 male, 6 female char. 

THE CLEFT STICK. AComedy in3 Acts. 

5 mal", 3 female char. 

COUSIN TO>I. A Comedietta in 1 Act. 

By U.'O. Rob-Tts. 3 male, 2 female char. 

DAMON AND PrrHIAS. A Farce. 6 

male, 4 female char. 

DANDELION'S DODGES. A Farce in 1 

Act. By T. .J. Williams. 4 male, 2 female char. 

THE DAUGHTER OF THE REGIMENT. 

A Drama in 2 Acts. By Edvvard Fitzball. 6 male, 

2 female char. 

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND. An Interlude 

in 1 A.^t. Bv W. H. Murrav. 10 male, 1 female. 

DONE ON BOTH SIDES. A Farce in 1 

Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 2 female char. 

DON'T JUDGE BY APPEARANCES. A 

Farce in i Act. Bv .J. .\I. Morton. 3 male, 2 female. 

DORA. A Pastoral Drama in 3 Acts. By 

Chas. Reade. 5 male, 2 female char. 

A DOUBTFUL VICTORY. A Comedy in 

1 Act. 3 male, 2 female char. 

DUNDUCKE IT Y'S PICNIC. A Farce in 1 

Act. Bv r. J. Williams. 6 male, 3 female char. 

EAST LYNNE. A Drama in 5 Acti. 8 

. male. 7 female char. 

GASPARDO THE GONDOLIER. A Drama 

.i:5Auis. Bv George Aimjr. 10 male, 2 female. 

GIVE A DOG A BAD NAME. A Farce. 

2 mal'. 2 (ennle "^har. 

THE HIDDEN HAND. A Drama i n 5 Acts. 

Bv Robert Jones, lo male, 7 femaie char. 

HIT HIM, HE HAS NO FRIENDS. A 

Farce in 1 Act. By E. Yates and .\. H. HaiTiagton. 
7 male, 3 female char. 

A HUSBAND TO ORDER. A Serio-comic 

Drama in 2 Acts, o male, 3 female char. 

I'VE WRITTEN TO BROWNE. A Farce 

in 1 Act. BvT.. I. Williams. 4 male, 3 female char. 

JOHN DOBBS. A Farce in 1 Act. By 

.1. .M. Mortnii. 5 ma'p, 2 female char. 

JOHN W0PP3. A Faroe in 1 Act. By 

W. E. Sater. 4 male, 2 female char. 

THE LOST CHILDREN. A Musical En- 
tertainment in ^1 Acts. By Mrs. Lewis Jtrvey. 8 
male, .5 female char., and chonii. 

LOOK AFTER BROV/N. A Farce i n 1 Act. 

By Geort^e A. .Stuart. Ji.O. 6 male, 1 fcmalj char. 

LOST IN LONDON. A Drama in 3 Acts. 

6 male, 4 female chur. 



LYING WILL OUT. A Comedy in 4 Acts. 

Bv H. Pelharn Cur'is. 6 male, 4 female char. 

MADAM IS ABED. A Vaudeville in 1 Act. 

2 male, 2 female char. 

MARY MOO ; or, Which Shall I Marry? 

A Farce in 1 Act. By W. E. Suter. 2 male, 1 fi-m. 

MONSEIGNEUR. A Drama in 2 Acts. By 

Thomas .\rclier 15 male, 3 female char. 

MY PRECIOUS BETSY. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By J. .M. Morton. 4 male, 4 female char. 

MY TURN NEXT. A Farce in 1 Act. By 

T.J Wiiliams. 4 male, 3 female char. 

NICHOLAS FLAM, A Cometiy in 2 Acts. 

Bv J. B. Buckstone. 5 male, 3 female char. 

NONE SO DEAF AS THOSE WHO WON'T 

Hear. A Comedietta in 1 Act. By H. P. Curtis. 2 
male, 2 female char. 

NURSEY CHICKWEED. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By T. .1. Williams. 4 male, 2 female char. 

OLD HONESTY. A Comic Drama in 2 

Acts. Bv .1. M. Morton. 5 male, 2 female char. 

ONLY A 'CLOD. A Comic Drp.ma in 1 Act. 

Bv J. P. Simpson. 4 male, 1 female char. 

PAYABLE ON DEMAND. A Uoraestio 

Drama in 2 Acts. 7 male. 1 female char. 

THE PHANTOM BREAKFAST. A Farce 

in 1 Act. Bv Chas. .Selby. 3 male, 2 female char. 

rUTKINS; Heir to Castles in the Air. 

A Comic Drama in 1 Act. By W. R. Emerson. 2 

male, 2 female char. 

THE QUEEN'S HEART, A Comedy in 3 

Acts, o male, 4 female char. 

A RACE FOR A WIDOW. A Farce in 1 

Act. 3y T. J. Williams. 5 male, 4 female char. 

SARAH'S YOUNG MAN. A Farce in ] 

Act. Bv W. E. Suter. 3 male, 3 female char 

THE SCARLET LETTER. A Drama in 3 

Acts, h male, 7 female char. 

SILVERSTONE'S WAGER. A Comedi- 

etta in 1 Act. By R. R. Andrews. 4 male, 3 female. 

A SLICE OF LUCK. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By J. M. Morton. 4 male, 2 female char. 

SMASHINGTON GOIT. A Farce in 1 Act, 

By T. J. WiUianis. 5 male, 3 female char. 

A SOLDIER, A SAILOR, A TINKER, 

and a 'lailor. A Farce in 1 Act. 4 male, 2 female. 

SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. 

A Drama in 1 Act. By Slingsby Lawrence. 3 male, 

3 female char. 

TRUE UNTO DEATH. A Drama in 2 Acts. 

By J. Sheridan Knowles. 6 male, 2 female char. 

THE TURKISH BATH. A Farce in 1 Act. 

By Montague Williams and F. C. Bumand. 6 male, 
1 female char. 

TWO GENTLEMEN IN A FIX. A Farce 

in 1 Act. Bv W. E. Suter. 2 maie cbar. 

TWO HEADS BETTER THAN ONE. A 

Farce in 1 Act. Bv l.enox Home. 4 male, 1 female. 

THE TWO PUDDIFOOTS. A Farce in 1 

Act. By J. M. Morton. 3 male, 3 female char. 

AN UGLY CUSTOMER. A Farce in 1 Act. 

Bv Thoma-i J. Williams. 3 male, 2 female char. 

UJCLE ROBERT. A Comedy in 3 Acts. 

hv II. P. ( urtis. 6 .Tiale, 2 female char. 

A VERY PLEASANT EVENING. A Farce 

in 1 Act. Bv W. E. .Suter. 3 male char. 

THE WELSH GIRL. A Comedy in 1 Act. 

Bv Mrs. Planche. 3 male, 2 female cbar. 

WHICH WILL HAVE HIM? A Vaude- 

ville. 1 male. 2 female char. 

THE WIFE'S SECRET. A Play in 5 Acts. 

Bv (ieo. W. I.cvell. 10 male, 2 female char. 

YOUR LIFE'S IN DANGER A Farce in 

1 Act. By J. M. Wortou, 3 male, 5 female char. 



WALTER H. BAKER & CO., PubUshers, Boston, Mass. 

p. O. Box 2846. 



A NEW PLAY FOR FEMALE CHARACTERS. 

A Companion to "REBECCA'S TRIUMPH." 

ANITA'S TRIAL; 

Or, Our Girls in Camp. 

By Esther B. Tiffany, author of "A Rice Pudding," "That Patrick," 

"Young Mr. Pritchard," etc. 

Price, -------35 cents. 

This is a bright and si)arkling comedy in three acts, for eleven 
female characters. Its story is entertaining, and its dialogue dis- 
tinguished by this author's delicate humorous touch. One scene only 
is necessary for the three acts — a camp in the woods, easily arranged. 
The dresses are simple and picturesque camping costumes. The enor- 
mous success of "Rebecca's Triumph " has created a demand for this 
sort of piece, to meet which we confidently present "Anita's Trial," 
in which is solved, with no less success than in its predecessor, the 
difficult problem of constructing a play of strong human interest with- 
out the assistance of male characters. 



The n HRQNQTHANATOLETRQN: 

OR, OLD TIMES MADE NEW. 

An entertainment in one act for sixteen girls, written for the Class Day 
Exercises at Dana Hall School, Wellesley, Mass., by two members 
of the Class of '87 and first performed before members of the school 
and their friends, June 18, 1887, and later at Ellsworth, Maine, 
April 6, 1888. 

Price, ------- J86 cents. 



THE PEAK SISTERS. 

A humorous entertainment for young ladies. Arranged by Mary B. 
HoRNE. Any number of ladies may take part, but seven only are 
necessary. No scenery; costumes very simple. This laughable 
trifle meets with invariable success wherever performed. 

Price, -------15 cents. 



THE BOOK OF DRILLS. 

A group of entertainments for female characters for stage or floor per- 
formance, by Mary B. Horne, the author of " The Peak Sisters," etc. 

Price, .--.---80 cents. 



WALTER E BAKER & CO., PnDIlsta, 23 Winter St, Boston. 



». J. rARKHILL 4 CO., PNlNTgiJS, 222 FRA 



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